


The Sunshine Falling Over the Mountains

by Second_Sadie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Second_Sadie/pseuds/Second_Sadie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which their happily ever after is a long time coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Or I Could be No One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he speaks his voice is filled with a strong sincerity that is much louder than those three words ever will be. “I just want you to be happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! I decided to post this separately from “The Way We Touch” because this is going to be a two-parter, and it also doesn’t quite fit in with my other stories. This is my first time writing in an Oliver-Voice, which is pretty darn tough for me to write (because as I’ve already admitted, he’s the strong silent type and ABS) so please forgive any annoyances or OOCness. This is also pretty angsty- compared to my other works, that is. Not too sure how it will measure up to all the other wonderful angst-filled fics out there, though. It’s got a happy ending, but probably not quite what y’all will be looking for.
> 
> So I had this idea in my head for quite a while, but what really motivated me to write it was Birdy’s cover of John Butler Trio’s “What You Want”. That song is so heart wrenching and it certainly gets you in a detrimentally hopeless romantic kind of mood. Plus, Birdy’s my homegirl, and her voice is pure magic.
> 
> Again, sincerest apologies for any mistakes. Tenses will probably be going every which way, so sorry about that.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own CW’s Arrow, or either version of the song “What You Want”.

“Oliver _Asshat_ Queen!” 

He cringes, not expecting to hear her angry stomps down the basement stairs so soon. He steps away from the sparring dummy and grabs a towel to wipe down the two-hour buildup of sweat, facing away from her so he can school his features. 

“What the _hell_ is this?!” 

He hears a rustling of papers and he assumes she’s shaking a large packet in his direction. 

“You look at me when I’m yelling at you, _asshat!_ ” 

He tenses but turns around, pulling on a shirt at the same time. “Can we lay off the name calling, please? Is that any way to talk to someone who just bought you a house?” 

Her eyes widen and her face gets even more flushed, a shade of angry red he’s never seen during all the years of them working together. “So this is real? You seriously bought this house, and thought, ‘Hmmm, what to do with an extra house? Oh, I know, Felicity and Mark!’ Are you _shitting_ me right now?” 

He sighs, threading a hand through his hair and tries to choose his words carefully. Yes, he bought them a house. But it wasn’t just any house. It was _The House_. The House Felicity found several months ago when she and Mark started looking for places to live together. The House she couldn’t stop talking about, telling as many people about it as possible. She even brought it up on the computers in the Foundry on a particularly slow night to show to him. The Perfect House, with its bay windows and daisy yellow exterior and original hardwood floors and porch swing and a room that had been previously set up as a _motherfucking nursery_. 

It was perfect for her. It was her Forever House. And her perfect forever would be in that house with Mark. 

But it was two hundred thousand dollars over their absolute max budget. They put in an offer anyway, but it was rejected. And when Felicity tried crunching as many numbers as she could but to no avail, she and Mark had to cut their losses and keep looking elsewhere. 

And she was _crushed_. Seeing her so sad and forlorn, and knowing that he couldn’t offer any more comfort other than a hand on the shoulder, was quite possibly one of the worst things he had to witness. Excluding, of course, the day she accepted Mark’s proposal. 

So a couple of days after she gave up hoping for The House, he called up his broker and put in an offer, higher than asking price to ensure that he got it. He debated on when exactly to sign over the deed. He thought the best course of action would be to wait until their honeymoon. That way she would be at the Louvre or enjoying a nice glass of wine when they found out, and that would hopefully soften her indignation.

Earlier in the week, however, they decided to put an offer on another house, a certainly less than perfect house, and Oliver knew he couldn’t keep it from them any longer.

The paperwork must have been finalized just this morning, which now brings them to their current situation of Felicity glaring at him, hand on hips, and Oliver struggling to maintain control. A situation all too familiar to him, and one that he will undoubtedly miss.

He decides to play it off casually, something he knows she’ll see right through, but it will help him create the distance he needs. “Yes, I bought you the house. Consider it a wedding present.”

“Oliver. A 50-piece silverware set that Mark and I will never use is a wedding present. Not a freaking house!”

She’s not cursing anymore, and Oliver takes that as a good sign. “Well, you wouldn’t let me help pay for anything else.”

Felicity’s mouth scrunches up into a tight pucker.

_Shit._

“I wouldn’t let you pay for anything because it’s not your wedding to pay for!” Oliver feels his eye twitch and is grateful Felicity doesn’t seem to notice. “We don’t need your charity, Oliver!”

That part gets him mad, and too late he realizes his voice is growing louder, “You’re not charity. You’re my friend!”

“ _Again,_ friends don’t buy friends houses!”

Oliver throws up his hands in exasperation and takes two steps away from her before stepping back. “So, what? You want me take the house back? What do you want?”

“I want to know why you bought us this house!”

“Because you and Mark are my friends, and I want you both to be happy!”

“Bullshit, everyone knows you hate Mark!”

They’re both yelling now, and they’ve moved closer together over the course of the argument until they’re just a foot apart. For the millionth time Oliver gets the urge to close the short distance between them, taking her face in his hands to slant his mouth over hers, and put their passion to much better use.

Oliver shakes the fantasy out of his head and walks away to perch on the table with her computers, attempting a calmer tone, “I do not hate Mark.”

She raises her eyebrows in the look that says she’s not buying it, so reminiscent of how she used to look at him when they first met, and this time the stab to his heart is so swift that he has to take a quick breath.

“Okay, so perhaps I’m a bit reserved around him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like him.”

Which, God help him, is the truth. Mark is a great guy. He’s a great, funny, sensitive, generous, smart, perfect match for Felicity and he couldn’t think of a better husband for her.

And it makes him want to punch his fist through a wall.

He sighs before repeating quietly, avoiding her gaze, “I do not hate Mark.”

She’s silent for a while, just staring at him likes she’s trying to solve one of her mysteries and more than anything Oliver wants to show her the solution (because wouldn’t they just be so much happier if he did?)

But he can’t. So she still asks, “Oliver, why did you buy us this house? Do you have any idea how this will look?”

He nods aggressively and replies with his teeth on edge, hands gripping the edge of the table, “Sure, it will look like I’m a nice guy who wants to do nice things for his friends.”

“ _God_ , you still don’t get it! Mark and I are adults, fully capable of leading our own lives and making our own decisions and purchases! This was _none_ of your business, Oliver. This was not your problem! I can’t stand it when you get like this, all protective and obsessive and _overstepping boundaries_! My life is _not_ something you are responsible for! I am _not yours_!”

He stands up abruptly, blood rushing through his head, kicking behind him at the table, “You don’t think I know that? You don’t-“

He stops before he can say anything else, cursing himself for both his stupidity and cowardice, and walks towards the mats

But Felicity is not to be stopped and follows him. “What? I don’t what? I don’t get a say in the decisions you make for me?”

“What? No, it’s not like that-“

“Uh huh, sure, it hasn’t been like that _at all_ the past six years. Never mind you ‘promoting’ me to your executive assistant. Never mind you banning me from going out in the field. Never mind you pushing me away because you think I can’t handle who you really are. Never mind you sending me _back_ to IT. Never mind after I got engaged you telling me that I should stop spending my nights with you- ARGH!”

Tears are threatening to overflow in her eyes and Oliver can’t bear the way she sees him, “Felicity, please, _stop_ -”

She pokes at his chest as she says, “No, you stop! Why did you buy me the house?!”

Oliver lets out a frustrated growl, “You really want to know?”

“No, I’m just yelling because I want to make sure I’m loud enough when I say my vows!”

He then decides to say the one thing that he knows will put an end to her pushing. It will also probably put an end to their relationship, but he’s been preparing himself for that day for a long time, so he’s ready.

“Fine! I bought you the fucking house because I love-“

“ _Don’t._ Don’t you dare say it.”

The tears are loose now, tracking mascara down her face, and he sighs. He closes his eyes as he feels his anger slip away, and realizes that it just doesn’t matter anymore. With the last of his anger also goes the last of his regret.

When he speaks his voice is filled with a strong sincerity that is much louder than those three words ever will be. “I just want you to be happy.”

He opens his eyes slowly to see that her eyes are now closed, and she nods her head a few times. She whispers because he’s sure the fight is gone from her as well. “We could have been great, you know. And you didn’t even try.”

He gently pulls her into him, realizing that this is something they both need. He feels her arms wrap around him just as tightly as his around her, and he puts his lips to her hair. “I know… I know.”

He feels the shudders wracking through her body and knows she’s trying to contain her sobs. They stand like that for a few moments, and even though he knows he’ll have to build up the walls around his heart again, he lets himself enjoy those moments. He commits the way they’re pressed together so perfectly to memory, drinking in her scent and counting the seconds between breaths. So when he finds himself at another one of his many low points, he can remember that there was a time he was loved so completely that it saved him, and he saved her in return by letting her go.

It’s her that pulls away, and he feels the first of the walls to go up. “So… do you want me to take the house back?”

She lets out a wet laugh and walks over to her desk to get tissue. Wiping her face, she says, “No. I know you… meant well. We’ll just tell everyone it’s a perk of being Oliver Queen’s friends.”

She turns to face him. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, even though you deserved it.”

His mouth twitches. “I’m sorry for buying you and your fiancé a house. Even though you deserved it.”

She gives him a small smile and nods. “Thank you, Oliver. It really does mean a lot. But please, no more expensive gifts. Especially when, you know, we start having kids. You’re always going to be Cool Uncle Oliver, but please limit it to one pony per child, for our sakes, okay?”

He closes his eyes and imagines two or three kids running around The Perfect House, all with Felicity’s smile and intelligent gaze, and fondly thinks, _God, there will be no end to the rambling…_

“Okay.”

He feels her hand gently glide over his wrist, and he’s pretty sure he’d know her touch from anywhere. He opens his eyes to see her looking at him with timid concern.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He gives her a gentle smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…. Yeah… what’d you think? Hopefully not too awful! Some of you might be wondering why Oliver never tried to have a relationship with Felicity. I didn’t feel like I could fit it naturally in the story, but it pretty much comes down to him still not wanting to get involved with anyone because of the risks, and by the time he finally got his head out his ass, Felicity was already in a strong relationship with Mark, so he knew he missed his chance.
> 
> Anywho, I’d love to know what you think! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> P.S. The happy ending will be in part 2! :)


	2. You Could Come Right Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which their happily ever after is a long time coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read, commented, and left kudos! I can’t tell you how happy I am to receive so far such wonderful support and kind words! I really appreciate it! 
> 
> Just a heads up: this is going to get extremely introspective extremely fast. I’m tempted to instruct you all just to read the beginning and skip straight to the end, don’t read the middle because I hate it with the passion of a thousand suns. I’m pretty sure I didn’t convey Oliver’s thoughts properly, but I’ve rewritten this thing ten times already and I just want to get it away from me. Here, take it. Please forgive any mistakes, annoyances, etc, etc.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own CW’s “Arrow” or either version of the song “What You Want”.

26 Years Later

Oliver awakens to the all-too familiar sensations of pain, stiff bed sheets, and the hospital smell of iodoform. Keeping his eyes closed, he inhales deeply through his nose, allowing the scent of the disinfectant to clear his hazy mind. 

He feels a small pressure on his hand and he stills.

He’d know her touch from anywhere.

He slowly opens his eyes, preparing himself for the let down that the pain meds are affecting him more than usual, that she’s not really there.

But sure enough, her expectant blue eyes come into view, followed by the bemused twitch of her bright lips.

“’Licity?” He slurs, and immediately winces at the hoarseness of his voice.

The twitch transforms into a full smile, aged by laugh lines. “Well hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”

He winces again, but clears his throat before speaking this time. “How long was I out for?”

“Witnesses say they saw you fall at about one a.m. last night, and you’ve been in and out until they put you on pain killers four hours later. So, a solid grand total of about twelve hours.”

He feels his eyes widen. “Twelve?”

Felicity reaches out the hand not holding his to smooth the furrowed ridges of his brows, gently gliding her fingertips along his temple to the crow’s feet at his left eye. “You were tired,” she tells him softly.

He lifts his own free hand to grasp hers and brings it down to rest with his over his heart. “How long have you been here?”

“Digg called me at about nine this morning. He told me he didn’t call me any sooner because he didn’t want me to worry: there’s nothing in this world that can break your hard head.”

Oliver lets out a conceding grumble but Felicity’s face loses all traces of humor. He knows that look. He was on the receiving end of that look for six years, and he saw that same look over the past couple decades aimed at her three children when they misbehaved. Now with her children grown, it seems like he’s back to finding out just how loud Felicity’s Loud Voice can get.

“So what’s the damage?” he asks, hoping to dissipate some of her concerned disappointment.

“Two cracked ribs, a broken arm, a bruised collarbone. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.” Sounds like his distraction didn’t work. “What are you doing, Oliver? Are you…” she throws a cautious glance at the open door of his hospital room, “… skydiving, again?”

Oliver’s desire to laugh is overridden by his self-preservation, but he still barely manages to contain his grin when he replies. “No, Felicity, I am not _skydiving_ again.”

“Don’t lie to me, Oliver Queen. Digg told me he thinks you’ve been skydiving for the past few months.”

He gives an exasperated sigh. “Felicity. I have not been skydiving. I promise.”

Felicity opens her mouth as if to argue, but changes her mind and shakes her head. She then stands up, mumbling something that sounds like “euphemism”, “ridiculous”, and “quitting the skydiving business” while walking over to shut the door.

When she sits back down and rests her hand on the bed beside his leg, he moves as inconspicuously as possible to take her hand in his again. She accepts his hand without even seeming to notice, still glaring at him with suspicion.

“So if you haven’t taken up chasing down criminals again, how do you explain falling off of a three story building and into a tree?”

“I… got too high up for my nightly bird watching.”

She tilts her head and looks at him over her glasses, and he’s suddenly transported to thirty-two years ago: Felicity in a cramped IT office with her innocence still intact, and Oliver with a bullet-riddled laptop and something to prove.

“God, you haven’t changed a bit,” he breathes.

Her eyes soften, but her tone remains knowing, “Neither have you, it seems.”

Oliver nods and says quietly, “That still remains to be seen.”

“What do you mean?”

He lets his head fall back with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. He briefly considers lying again, maybe telling her that he simply was chasing down some common muggers instead of the truth. The truth that he can’t even fully bring himself to think about because it seems so ridiculous, but it still drives him out to the Glades every night, running around rooftops like a man on a mission.

But this is Felicity. She’s been his best friend for thirty years and knows all of his dark secrets. Plus, she can spot his lies quicker than he can shoot a tennis ball to a wall.

So maybe he won’t start off with all of it. Maybe he’ll take the easy road and see how it goes from there. “I’m _not_ the same,” he stops himself, acknowledging that he’s revealing a little bit too much truth than he’s comfortable with.

He continues with “My body…” he closes his eyes, not realizing that admitting his newfound limitations, even only a small part of them, out loud would be so damn hard. “I can’t do the same things that I used to.”

“So… are you saying you’re leaping off of buildings every night just to… what? Keep in shape?”

He opens his eyes to make contact with hers, and her brows shoot skyward. “You’re…” her mouth scrunches up and Oliver recognizes she’s trying to contain a smile. “Oliver, please don’t tell me you’re going through your mid-life crisis.” He rolls his eyes and a laugh startles out of Felicity. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. Mid-life crises aren’t funny. But I just thought you wouldn’t have one because you already have the Porsche, the Jaguar, _and_ the Ferrari. Not to mention-“

“So please don’t.”

“-you showing up to every social function with a supermodel on your arm. Honestly, you’re like a modern day Jack Nicholson.”

“Please. Jack Nicholson’s got nothing on me.”

She laughs again before sobering. “You are sixty years old, you know. Of course your body can’t do what it used to, no matter what kind of shape you’re in. And you are still obviously in great shape.” Her cheeks take on that flushed hue that he loves as she quickly rakes his body with her eyes. He smirks at her and she quickly backtracks, “Not as great as thirty years ago, though. I mean, you’re in great shape now, but back then you were perfection. Not that you need to be told that, you obviously worked very hard to have that kind of physique. And I don’t mean to say you have to work even harder now… it’s just… hey, wait, I do mean to say that. Stop working so hard now! You’re sixty years old!”

“But isn’t sixty the new thirty or something?”

Her mouth lifts again in a half-smile. “Or something.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and he tries to see what he looks like through her eyes.  He grew out the scruff on his face to a fuller beard, and though he still had a full head of hair most of it was starting to go gray (he cringed the first time Amelia called him a “silver fox”); numerous worry lines betrayed the feelings he once was able to mask; and the bags under his eyes had grown deeper with each passing decade.

Is he the same Oliver to her? Or has he in his old age come full circle to the person he once was before the island: a man without a purpose?

He gave up the Arrow at fifty when he tore his rotator cuff and had to have surgery to repair it. While he was still able to draw a bow after recovering, he never physically felt or performed the same, and it took both Diggle and Felicity to convince him it wasn’t worth the risk anymore. He reluctantly agreed. Crime was the lowest it had ever been, and he had other, less physically intensive means via Queen Consolidated to make Starling City a better place.

Flash-forward to ten years later at the surprise sixtieth birthday party Thea decided to throw for him, inviting all his friends and family as well as the city’s best and finest. The climax of the evening was a presentation highlighting his crowning achievements, all of them having to do with Oliver Queen as a CEO and philanthropist, and nothing to do with the Green Arrow and his all-encompassing crusade.

But that didn’t stop Diggle and Felicity from sneaking him the newest top of the line bow in archery.

And after the party was over and he hugged and kissed everyone good-bye, he retired to his room and laid in his bed and couldn’t help but replay that stupid presentation in his head over and over again. He saw snapshots of himself shaking hands with celebrities, diplomats, and world leaders. Magazine cover after magazine cover featuring articles on him transitioned one right into the next. A long list of charities he had founded had drifted across the screen among several other charities that he supports regularly. He came to realize that if he had never been stranded on the island and had returned to life as expected, his life as Oliver “Ollie” Queen, CEO, probably would have turned out the exact same way.

He would have returned from the Queen’s Gambit with his father and, after a quick wink to Sara, returned to Laurel to start looking for apartments. He would have probably proposed several months after, thinking he was finally ready to commit both to her and to his father’s company, all the while not recognizing his usual feelings of restlessness transform into something much more frightening. 

He and Laurel would have gotten married, and over the years he would have slowly taken over his father’s position. At first he would have thought his boredom was status quo—he always had a hard time finding an interest in Queen Consolidated. But then things with Laurel would have started to become monotonous as well, and one day she would have suggested children, and that thought would have scared him more than marriage or running his own business. The pressure of responsibility after responsibility would have assaulted him, someone who wasn’t in any way ready for real life. He would have been trapped, and he never liked to feel trapped.

He would have had several affairs over the years, and when Laurel finally found out, she would have divorced him, public image be damned. His father would have eventually retired, albeit reluctantly, and all too late Oliver would have realized he wouldn’t have to _perform_ anymore. Without his loved ones watching and critiquing his every more, he would have received the independence he had no idea he craved. He would have eventually transformed into the man he was supposed to be, and for his sixtieth birthday his little sister would have thrown him an extravagant surprise party.

His thoughts kept him awake for the rest of the night, and he didn’t know whether to hate the fact that the person he became because of the island no longer had a direct impact on his life, or to be relieved.

The next morning he found a drive in himself that he hadn’t felt since he was the Arrow. While he knew that his life as a vigilante helped so many people, and he _knew_ his five years of suffering on the island made him into the man he was today… his thoughts from that night haunted him. As usual.

Which is how, for the next few months, he found himself scaling a building just to show that he’s not the same as the Ollie of Old. The major difference he knows for certain between Ollie and Oliver is his body. Ollie’s body wouldn’t be the scar-infested, killing machine that Oliver had become. Oliver clung onto that difference as he went out every night to see if he could achieve some of the same feats he performed on the island and as the Arrow, or even, yes, stopping the occasional mugging. And how now he finds himself in a hospital bed after a miscalculated jump with his oldest friend staring at him in concern.

Before he can stop himself, he asks her, “Have you always known this was how it was going to turn out? Or did you picture something different?”

For Oliver, ‘something different’ has always led him down a road of things he tried not to think about. A road filled with images of how his father would have looked with pride on his face instead of shame, of how Tommy and Laurel’s children would have looked, and of all the different ways he could have made Felicity smile. ‘Something different’ always turned out to be heartbreakingly impossible.

But now, Oliver’s newfound insecurities push his limitations just so he can prove that his life really is different from what it could have been if he wasn’t stranded on the island; that ‘different’ isn’t a delusion.

Shit, he really is going through a mid-life crisis.

Felicity’s brow furrows, “Um… how do you mean? Like, did I always know I would be holding the hand of my former employer in his hospital room after he jumped off of a building? Because given your track record, I actually have always known that.”

He smiles and shakes his head.

She knows what he means, and she gives a sigh, “I think I’ve always known what I wanted from life: a fulfilling career, good friends, a loving husband, healthy children. And I got all of that, and so in that regard my life did turn out the way I expected. But in terms of _how_ I got all that I wanted? I didn’t expect a damn thing. But I think that’s the point, isn’t it? The whole ‘it’s not the destination that counts, it’s the journey’? I think we all end up where we’re supposed to be eventually, but getting to the point to be happy with who and where you are? I think that part depends on the journey.”

It’s not quite what he’s looking for, but considering he hasn’t told her even a fraction of what’s going on in his head, it still helps to know that she understands the need, _his_ need, to reconcile his past with the person he is now.

“Does that help with what’s going on in that brain of yours?” She asks hesitantly.

Oliver doesn’t answer and instead just looks at her for a moment. How did he expect his life to turn out? Did he expect that he would have been able to keep the Arrow a secret forever? Did he expect to successfully run QC? To finally revitalize the Glades?

Did he expect to have a happily ever after with Felicity?

“Let’s have dinner,” he says suddenly, as if hoping that will answer his question, and immediately regrets it when Felicity’s quizzical gaze turns into full-blown confusion.

“We will be having dinner, remember? The twins will be home for winter break from college, and Amelia is driving out as well. They all want to see their Uncle Lollie,” she teases half-heartedly, and Oliver can’t help the twitch of his own lips. “Aren’t we still on for next weekend? Did your assistant not put that on your schedule?”

“Right, we’re still on. I just meant,” _just say it, Queen, you’re sixty years old, you’re not who you used to be_ , “Dinner, with just the two of us.”

She freezes. “What, you mean like a-“

“Yes.”

“Oh,” she says in a small voice, and says nothing more.

Oliver immediately backtracks. “Never mind, forget it. It’s too soon-“

“Oliver-“

“-after what happened to Mark. You probably don’t even feel the same way-“

“Hold on a minute-“

“It’s fine, we’re fine-“

“ _Oliver_.”

He finally hears her and stops, wishing that he isn’t injured so that he could at least pace when she turns him down.

She rubs a thumb over his knuckles when she speaks, “I first just want to say… what happened to Mark was a terrible, wasteful accident. But it’s been five years, and I’ve made my peace with it. _You_ helped me make my peace with it by co-founding a support organization with me for others who also lost loved ones to drunk driving. 

“In regards to my not feeling the same way… Thirty years ago, when I moved on and you let me,” she pauses and brings her other hand up to cup his cheek, “Oliver, that was probably the best thing you’ve ever done for me.”

His eyes slam shut and he just tries to focus on her touch.

“Wait, Oliver, please, listen,” her hand slides down his neck to his rest lightly on his chest, “You have to understand that while I fell completely in love with Mark, I really did love you before, and I’ve never stopped caring for you. But you were never ready to accept any kind of love, not while you were the Arrow, and you knew that all along. I didn’t. So you let me go, so I could find the love that I needed.

“But now that you’re no longer the Arrow, no longer consumed by this guilt that you thought would corrupt everything and everyone around you, I think you’re finally ready to be loved like you should be.” He opens his eyes, but finds that she looks away and takes her hand away from his chest, and he’s instantly cold. “And… I think maybe you’re reaching towards me because I’m the most familiar. We were in love once, no question about it, and we will always share a strong bond. But people change. I’m… I’m not the same either, you know. While I don’t doubt that I could easily fall in love with you again, you might find that I’m not what you want anymore,” her voice catches, and he finishes what she’s trying to say in his head.

 _I’m not Laurel_.

He sits up despite the pain in his ribs, slides a hand to the back of her neck, kisses her, and can’t help the relieved sigh that escapes him.

_Finally._

Their kiss is brief, but sweet, and Oliver hopes she can taste the promise on his lips. He only pulls back enough so their lips are no longer touching, but so he can lean his forehead against hers.

“Felicity. You are not just another ideal that I have been holding onto all these years. You were not someone that I used to make me feel better about myself.” He kisses her again, because now he never wants to stop. “You did save me, but in a way that allowed me to find my own strength, which is how I was able to let you go.

“I have always loved you, and after three decades of friendship, I am more in love with you than ever. No matter what kind of journeys you’ve been on or what you think your life will be like in the next thirty years, I will always want you, and I’m finally ready for you, to love you. And if it’s not too late, if you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

She bites her lip, one of her telltale signs of thinking too much, so he leans in again to kiss her, but she beats him to it and meets him more than halfway.

“Okay,” she whispers against his lips.

He grins, “Okay?”

She nods and pecks his lips once, twice more before saying, “My kids are going to _flip_.”

 

* * *

 

It’s the next weekend and he’s at her house for dinner as scheduled, even though they’ve already had dinner several times over the past week, just the two of them. 

While her kids watch TV in the next room, he sneaks into the kitchen to watch her put the finishing touches on dinner. Even though he’s been over to her house—her perfect house—several times before, it always lifts his spirits to see how truly happy and at home she was in the house he was able to give her, the one thing he allowed himself to give her all those years ago.

He slides his arms around her from behind and she jumps, startled.

“Are you kidding me? You’re still a ninja, after all this time?”

He chuckles into the side of her neck. “Once a ninja, always a ninja.”

“Mmm. You know, you should be sitting down. Your ribs are never going to heal as fast as you want them to if you don’t rest.”

Felicity’s concerned comment is more than just a side effect of being a mother and former vigilante sidekick; it’s also a jab at his impatience for their relationship to become more physical. She refuses to have sex with him until he’s completely healed, not wanting to risk his injuries getting worse.

“Felicity,” he said quietly when they first discussed it after getting back from a night out, “I’ve lived through over thirty years of never expecting to make love to you. But you can bet all seven of your computers that I’ve certainly fantasized about it, and no cracked ribs are going to get in my way now that it’s finally going to be reality.”

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She then crossed her arms over her chest, stuck out her jaw, and said with a twinkle in her eye, “Well, we don’t know what kind of reaction you’ll have when you mix your pain medication with your Viagra.”

He gathered her into his arms before she could react and backed her into the wall of her entryway, his lips ghosting over hers. “That won’t be a problem,” he throatily replied, rolling his hips into hers (but still trying to hide the wince from the pain in his torso), “I don’t need Viagra.”

She never made that argument again.

But she still held her stance firm on the matter, so he’s forced to wait another five weeks. He’s already counting the hours.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t bide his time in other ways, like with smoldering kisses or having her still try to catch him up on pop culture.

For now he’ll go with the former, and instead of responding to her obvious dig, he turns her head and kisses her deeply. He loves the way she practically melts into him-

“No _fucking_ way.”

They break apart, slightly out of breath, but Felicity still manages a stern, “ _Amelia Rose_.”

Felicity’s twenty-four year old daughter stands in the doorway of the kitchen, mouth agape, but not quite as upset as Oliver thinks she would have been.

“Sorry,” Amelia says, not really meaning it, “It’s just… _I knew it_. Mom, you’ve been rambling way more than normal this past week. I can’t _wait_ to tell Uncle John.” She turns back around, obviously not caring about why she came into the kitchen in the first place, and yells out, “Ben! Zachary! You both owe me twenty bucks!”

Felicity sighs and turns off the stove. “So much for waiting to tell them over dinner.”

Oliver’s about to reply, but then hears the twin brothers exclaim “ _WHAT?_ ” and he can’t help but laugh.

He’s found the difference, he realizes as he helps Felicity carry the food to the dining room table; the distinction between Ollie at sixty and Oliver at sixty. While Ollie may have eventually crossed paths with Diggle in searching for new security detail, he never would have had the need for Felicity. But Oliver did, and he’s never stopped needing her since.

It’s the kind of difference that alters a person’s life journey completely, much like the island or being the Arrow, and Oliver wouldn’t have it any other way.

As soon as they enter the dining room, Felicity’s three grown children assault them with questions, and Oliver thinks pleasantly, _Mid-life crisis averted._

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH, I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say I’m never writing a story in Oliver’s POV ever again. I’m sticking with my Felicity Voice from now on. I’m sure I made him WAY more complex than he really is. But like I said, I like to analyze. I was probably some sort of shrink in a former life.
> 
> Normally I would never ask this because I really do appreciate constructive criticism, but do me a favor: if you all didn’t like how this story turned out... just don’t tell me. I’m already beating myself up about it as it is, I don’t need the extra criticism, and your silence will tell me all I need to know. But if you did like it, please share! Thanks so much for your patience and for reading!


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